As I was driven to work this morning I had the luxury of watching the bleak airport scenery instead of the road ahead. As my roommate and I sped along Irving Park Road past O'Hare International, I spied a police SUV pulled off into the dirt, facing towards a small patch of forest.

The forest is a modest shallow ring of trees circling a series of dirt mounds. Dump trucks haul this dirt to various ignored Chicagoland locations like railyards, landfills, campgrounds, and construction zones, where they spill it in haphazard cascades of crumbled earth.

The vehicle was running and the door was open. On the side it was marked "Special Police." I'm used to seeing plenty of Jeeps and SUVs marked "U.S. Customs" around here. They parade around with dogs that sniff Mexican crotches for heroin. The officers molest the immigrants' asses for green cards and pesos and think it's funny to ask for lawnmower licenses.

The Special Police must be something else. What is special, exactly? As a small child, I thought I was special. Mommy said so. As I got older I learned that special means retarded, crippled, diseased, or extremely dumb. I was glad not to be special. Glad to be a commonplace average boring normal person. Anything but SPESHUL.

Apparently now we train and hire police for the express civic responsibility of tracking down wayward retards. Do we have a problem with strays? I wouldn't be surprised to learn that drooling idiots are sneaking into the Korea Air building in hopes of getting shipped to the north pole to play with Santy Claus. Perhaps some of them have weaker imaginations and just want to joyride on the luggage conveyors. The social tards just want to pogo around the terminals flapping their limp wrists all about while the poop seeps through their ill-fitting pants.

They're everywhere, not just in McDonald's commercials. We have a tard invasion on our hands. Anarchy has broken out and these slackeyed meltyfaced infantile flappy skinned gurgling retards are fleeing short yellow busses everywhere, refusing the tyranny of patronizing special ed teachers in favor of mindless capering throughout our transportation hubs.

This morning I witnessed one such episode, though only from the periphery. On the other side of the forest patch, beyond my vision, a howling laughing moron boy was scampering away in untied shoes. He thought the cop was circle racing with him.

I think the cops will get frusrated eventually, and they will start pounding dents into the soft retard skulls with their steel flashlights. They'll have to change the paint on their SUVs to read "Evolution Police."

My house is situated on the side of a hill overlooking the local high school football stadium. Just as we were becoming bored with the usual football and soccer games, along came the Special Olympics. And let me tell you, it was definitely a special moment at our house that magical Saturday morning. We had a great time on the back deck, cooking burgers, drinking beer, and cheering on our favorite almond-eyed kids in the 500 meter walk. We were all winners that day.